


No Price High Enough

by barbarosabee



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Bounty Hunting, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Gunshot Wounds, Hurt/Comfort, Period-Typical Racism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-04-20
Packaged: 2020-01-16 11:13:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18520312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/barbarosabee/pseuds/barbarosabee
Summary: Arthur catches wind of an interesting bounty, a cattle rustler by the name of Duncan "Firechin" Davies. Sounded like an easy $40, and Hosea said don't come back until he was done sulking. So Arthur packs up and rides out. It's a nice day and the roads are clear.And, of course, things stop being simple after that.





	1. Chapter 1

Bounties, robberies, hunting. Arthur was starting to feel like he just did the same few things over and over again. Always chasing money, never had enough. Felt the gang was just gonna be on the run forever until they all died.Least the scenery was pretty enough, tall cliffs shading well-worn trails and he hadn’t seen another soul all day.

Arthur was once again away from camp on the hunt for some cash. Had been chased out, practically, by Hosea saying he’d been moping around long enough after the debacle with The Witch. Arthur tried to argue he didn’t  _ need _ to go out after bringing in a $500 bounty, but Hosea just pushed him towards his horse and threatened to slap her on the rear to get her going if Arthur didn’t get out of his sight.

At least Calliope was enjoying herself. Always enjoyed their trips north-northwest. Arthur suspected she had lived most of her life in the wilds north of Strawberry, with how excited she always seemed to be when they went back. Hardly needed to give her a peppermint to calm down.

_ Did _ have to give her a peppermint to keep her focused, though. Girl kept fidgeting while Arthur tried to shoot a deer for dinner.

She shifted a step to the side just as Arthur pulled the trigger. The shot went wide, hit a tree, and the deer bounded off. Arthur leaned back from the scope and glared at Calliope—she had eyes only for the fresh grass she now had access to. Arthur stuffed the gun back into its scabbard and kicked Calliope into a trot. She snorted at him, tossed her head, but complied. After a half mile or so he offered her a peppermint.

It was getting late and he still hadn’t caught anything for dinner.  _ Guess it’s beans again _ .

Arthur camped in the rocky hills just shy of Strawberry. He’d go into town the next morning and ask after any bounties. Post clerk might have a new stagecoach tip, too. And if he didn’t find anything in Strawberry, he’d just head more west and spend a day hunting elk. Long as he came back to camp with  _ something _ . Though he was starting to suspect everyone just wanted him to come back in one piece. Charles asked if he wanted company just about every time he saw Arthur saddling Calliope. Arthur almost always turned him down.

Why folk worried over him so much, Arthur had no idea.

  
  
  


Arthur rose with the sun. He rose with the sun because that was when Calliope woke up, and when they weren’t in camp she got to sleep as close to him as she wanted and bother him as soon as she could. He pushed her nose away from his face and sat up with a groan. Back still hurt, just left of the middle between his shoulder blades.  _ It looks like a handprint. _ Charles had guided Arthur’s hand back to feel it, but pain blazed outwards from it across his entire back as soon as he touched his fingers to it.

Tried not to think about it too much. 

He shoved some oatcakes at Calliope to keep her busy while he tore down camp.

They weren’t more than a few miles from Strawberry, and most of the town was still asleep when they rode in. Arthur stopped at the newscrier and bought a paper, leaned against the hitching post outside the post office until the town woke up more.Calliope loudly slurped from the communal trough, dribbled some of the water over the paper and smeared the ink. Arthur chuckled beneath his breath, folded the paper into his satchel. The sun-washed rocks surrounding the river lost their pink hue as the sun finally cleared the mountain.

Enough people out on the street to be considered busy.

The mail clerk didn’t have any leads. Arthur thanked him and made his way to the saloon. Too early to be drinking but he needed a hot meal, and maybe someone was still drunk enough from the night before to let something slip. A wagon rattled along the street at his back.

The saloon had a decent number of people in it. Didn’t look like any drunks were leftover from the night crowd. Arthur ordered some meat and potatoes dish and settled into a small table near the back and listened to the conversations around him.

The doors opened and a man at the bar hollered at the man who walked in, obviously friends. The newcomer had mud clear up to his thighs, shirt untucked. He only had one shoe and his nose looked freshly broken. Had a chunk of exposed scalp where some of his dark hair had been ripped off.

“What fresh hell’d you get dragged through this time?”

The new guy waved at the bartender for a whiskey. “Big Bernie thought I was lookin’ at his daughters  _ unproper _ like and drove me off.”

“Hope the look was worth it.”

“Weren’t looking! Was throwin’ hay out the barn and she happened to walk by! Weren’t nowhere else to look!”

“Whatever you say, Bobby, whatever you say.”

Bobby knocked back a whiskey, then a second. “Keep those coming. Don’t know how I stay friends with you, you’re such an asshole,  _ Jared _ .”

Jared clapped Bobby between the shoulders. “Aw, I’m sorry. Big Bernie’s just nervous. Poster finally went up for Davies.”

Bobby finished a third whiskey, shoved a handful of almonds in his mouth. “Bernie thought he saw someone out by the barn few weeks back, anyhow.”

Alright, Arthur was finally interested.

“ ‘scuse me, gentlemen, couldn’t help overhear something about a bounty.”

The two men turned to Arthur. Looked like they didn’t have a suspicious bone in their bodies, bless them. Bobby even smiled.

“Howdy!”

Arthur cleared his throat. “So who is this Davies feller?”

Bobby slammed  _ another _ whiskey. Visibly wobbled. Jared slung an arm around Bobby’s shoulder.

“Firechin Davies, best cattle rustler this side of the Mississippi. It’s said he can charm the horse right out from under you.”

“Horses ain’t the only thing he can charm,” Bobby interjected, shoved himself towards Arthur. Arthur caught him by the elbow and eased him back towards his friend.

“Leaves little red haired bastards everywhere he goes,” Jared supplied. Got Bobby to put both his hands on the counter to steady himself.

Arthur signaled the bartender to bring them another round.“Sounds like quite a feller.”

Bobby finished the shot and slammed the glass back onto the bar. “Got the van Tinterin ranch real nervous. S’where. S’where I work.  _ Worked _ . Ah hell.” Bobby sunk his head into his hands. It slipped and landed on the bar with a hollow  _ thunk _ .

The second man grinned. “Big Bernie’s got almost as many daughters as he does cows.”

“Got some  _ weird _ cows.”

“Got even weirder daughters.”

Arthur tipped back his own shot. “Whereabouts is this ranch?”

  
  


\- 0 - 0 - 0 -

 

Surprised Arthur, how close he got to the mountains before he spotted the ranch. Took the better part of the day to get there at a steady pace. Not the kind of place most folk raised cattle. Far enough out it seemed inconvenient to steal from—it was a long drive back to civilization, to  _ anywhere  _ the cattle could be sold. Maybe this Davies fellow kept them for himself. Arthur wasn’t sure what to make of the “red-headed bastards” part but figured that if true, was more the results of an unsavory man. In his experience, women were not as easily charmed as men claimed them to be.

The road up to the ranch was well maintained. Paddocks to both sides, but most of the cows looked to be on the side with the barn. Not like any cows Arthur had ever seen—they had long fur and were smaller than the cows most folk kept. Almost all of them looked about the same, black on both ends and white in the middle. Only a calf or two this late in the year. The paddock on the other side, most of it open to the plains preceding the ranch, held two tired-looking donkeys, a burly white Shire, and a dappled Kentucky Saddler lounging on its side next to the gate. There was a stable farther back, another small building next to it. The only lights were on in the barn and the big two-story house at the end of the path. The mountains jutted up not that far behind the house, maybe half a mile.

Arthur made sure all his guns were stowed before approaching the house. Calliope wickered to the other horses as they passed. 

A man stepped out of the house, shotgun over an arm, when Arthur was within a hundred feet.

  
  
  
  


Bernhard van Tinterin was used to strange men riding up on his property. Inevitable, with seven daughters. Seemed being so far up near the mountains did nothing to discourage suitors as he had hoped. Siobhan wasn’t happy about it either, but she liked the cold and the cows well enough.

This man was different than the rest, Bernhard knew right away. Gun slung across his back, more poking from the sides of his saddle. His hat had a bullet hole through the brim and he looked like he hadn’t seen a bath in some days. The girls were crowded at Bernhard’s back, each clamoring over the other to try to see the rider. He hushed them, closed the door, and made a show of loading is gun as the rider approached the covered porch. Kept the gun at his hip, but pointed at the man.

“Private property,  _ mijnheer _ .”

The man stopped his horse a fair distance away, hands up in surrender. “You Big Bernie?”

Bernhard groaned, lowered his gun, and looked to the sky as if God might have some answers for him this time. “So you crossed paths with Bob and Jared, it seems.”

“Name’s Arthur Callahan, I’m going after Duncan Davies’ bounty, folk in town said you were worried about him rustlin’ some cattle.”

“Ja, ja, he’s known well in this area. Gunder Stendhal lost his best steer last week. _Mijn zorgen_ _is_ for my daughters more than _mijn koeien_. Each night, I am in the barn to be sure he stays away. Our _koeien_ are a special breed, _erg duur_.”

Arthur thought he understood the gist of what the man said. 

The door of the large house opened and a woman, fair skinned with fine lines around her thin mouth and grey eyes, stepped out. A long blonde braid reached over her shoulder and past her hips. “Bernhard?  _ Wie is deze man?” _

“ _ Niemand om zich zorgen over te maken _ . Go back to the girls.”

Arthur saw at least five girls crowded around the front door, still inside, more pairs of small legs hidden behind the older ones. All of them looked too young for grown men to be thinking about rustlin’. Couldn’t place the man’s accent and wasn’t sure what language he was speaking. Hair a darker blonde than his wife’s, thick beard forked into two short braids. Arms wide around as trees. Arthur did not often feel the smaller man, but he was sure once he dismounted this Big Bernie would tower over him.

Arthur was not here to protect a family. Arthur was here for information about a bounty—weren’t even a big one, at that, forty dollars if he brought him in alive. Maybe sit at the edge of the property and wait for Davies to show up. Arthur rubbed a hand along the back of his neck.

“Hey mister? If’n you’re so worried about this Davies fellow. . . .,” Arthur sighed, shrugged. “Suppose I could help you guard your cattle tonight.”

The man’s wife came to stand beside her husband. The girls poured over each other in their haste to get on the porch. Arthur counted six, ranging from tiny to teenagers.

Bernhard made a show of stepping to block the view of his daughters. “Said you bounty hunt?”

“After a fashion. Look, I was gonna ask if I could set up outside your property and wait for ‘im, might as well help keep the girls safe.” 

Bernhard turned to his wife and they had a conversation in fast foreign words. Arthur shifted in his saddle. Eyes drifted over to the girls lined up along the porch. Very blonde family and there was no mistaking the girls were sisters.

“ _ Alsjeblieft,  _ please, have dinner with us first.” Bernhard stepped aside. Siobhan shooed the girls away from the door so Arthur could enter.

 

\- 0 - 0 - 0 -

 

The house was well-loved and lived in. Quilts spilled over the sofa in the sitting room, one piled up in front of the low fire with a fluffy cat curled into it. Green eyes watched Arthur where he stood with his hat in his hands, not sure what to do with himself as children were ordered around in a language he couldn’t understand. The littlest ones hid behind their mother’s skirt.

“Mister, you can sit here if you want!” One of the older girls, probably in her young teens, maybe, Arthur hadn’t been around enough children to be good at guessing their ages, tugged him by the sleeve towards the couch. Shoved all the quilts to one side, wiped invisible dust from the seat. “Right here, see? Mac loves the fire!” She swept over to the cat, picked up up behind the front legs. The cat dangled, nonplussed. Blinked at Arthur a few times.

“Feline!  _ Laat de kat vallen. _ How many times? Don’t hold him like that, he’s old.”

“Oops.” Feline released the cat. He thumped to the floor. Stretched, climbed back onto the blanket pile and curled up again as if nothing had happened.

Halfway through dinner, Arthur  _ thought _ he knew all their names. A seventh one had emerged from pstairs to help her mother prepare the meal, looked old enough she would be considering a family of her own soon. Natalia, she introduced herself as. Bit taller than her mother, hair loose, darker blonde than any of her siblings.Then there was Myrte, Anja, Felicia. . .no, Feline. Close in age,  _ we had good harvests _ , Siobhan told Arthur with a wink. Those four were all born in their home country, Feline just a year old when the family voyaged across the sea. The three youngest were. . . Ragan? No, Rowan, Orla, and the littlest Noreen.  _ I learned his language for him, I could not let him name all my daughters _ . 

A tiny hand grabbed Arthur by the elbow. The soup spilled from his spoon and Siobhan scolded her youngest. 

“I’m four!” She held out four tiny fingers. Arthur tried to hide his smile—Siobhan was still chastising her daughter, in their language.

“That so?”

“Uh huh. I’m four and Orla is nine and Rowan is ten and Feline is thirteen and Anja is fourteen and Myrte is fifteen and Natalia is  _ nineteen _ and Moeder says—”

“Noreen!  _ Hou op _ ! Apologies, Mr. Callahan, we practice her numbers every day and she is excited to meet new people.”

“I can count in Dutch!  _ Een, twee, drie, vier, zes _ —” 

“You missed  _ vijf _ ,” one of the other girls—Orla? Arthur had no hope of keeping them straight, hard enough remembering all their names—teased with a stuck out tongue.

“Girls,” Bernhard cleared his throat from the head of the table. Everyone went back to their meals, except Noreen and Orla, who traded mean looks across the table.

Natalia was the first to stand and start clearing dishes. Arthur lost himself in watching the domestic scene play out in front of him. Siobhan ordered the other girls to their chores and cleared the table with Natalia. The sounds of washing dishes drifted from the kitchen. Bernhard brought a pipe and a tin of tobacco from his coat pockets and started smoking it. Arthur lit one of his own cigarettes and tried not to get ash on the nice embroidered tablecloth.

“Thank you, really, for the hospitality,” Arthur said after finishing his cigarette.

A dish broke in the kitchen. The low conversation between the two women picked up in volume, clearly an argument now, though Arthur had no idea what they were saying. Bernhard excused himself and his gruff voice joined his wife and daughter.

A foot stomped. A scoff from Natalia. “ _ Ik ben geen kind meer _ ! I want to help!  _ Ik weet hoe ik moet jagen _ , I can handle a gun!  _ vader, alsjeblieft _ . Please! Let me help!”

“ _ Genoeg is genoeg _ , Natalia.  _ Mijn woord is definitief _ . Give Noreen her bath and go to bed.”

“ _ Dit is oneerlijk! _ ”

Natalia stalked from the kitchen, hair flying behind her. Arthur saw nearly all her sisters were watching from the stairs. She shouted at them and they scattered as she grabbed her skirts and pounded up the creaking stairs. Arthur kept his eyes on the table.

Bernhard sat down, lit his pipe.

“Everything alright?”

Bernhard puffed the pipe a few times.

“My eldest. Natalia. She wants to help.  _ Eigenzinnige kleine meid _ that she is. Thinks because she shot some rabbits she can shoot people.” Bernhard sighed, rubbed his forehead. He looked back to Arthur. “What were we discussing?”

“Oh, I was just thanking you, for the meal. I know how hard feeding a big family is.”

“No troubles, if it keeps  _ de koeien _ and  _ mijn dochters _ safe. And you get your bounty. Everyone happy. My uncle would call that a ‘good deal’.” Bernhard tamped out the pipe. Stood, tucked his chair in behind him and gestured for Arthur to follow. Arthur made sure to push in his chair as well.

“That the uncle who talked you into immigrating?”

Bernhard grabbed his rifle from next to the front door. Arthur had politely kept his weapons on Calliope, who’d been hitched to the front porch, and Bernhard waited for him to retrieve them.

“Ja, the one. Wrote many big letters about how he was a big  _ succesvolle zakenman _ with big money.”

Arthur held out a peppermint to Calliope, left some carrots near for her to snack on. Greedy thing was going to eat them all at once, he figured, but he always gave her a snack in the evening.

“Sounds like that weren’t quite the case.”

Bernhard led Arthur to the paddock. The cows had free access to the barn, but most were outside sleeping. A steer stood guard at the far end. A few cows nosed at the remains of the day’s hay pile.

“ _ Nee _ , it is not the case. Big ideas, no so big money.  _ De dwaas van het gezin _ , he is.”

“You seem to be doing alright for yourself.”

“Ja, we do not struggle too badly. I struggle with English more than I struggle with cows.”

Arthur chuckled. “Inclined to agree ‘bout that one.”

Bernhard indicated they were to hunker down in the hayloft. He went about extinguishing the lamps in the barn as Arthur got himself situated.

Great view from here, could see all the paddocks and straight down to the main road. Bernhard had said they owned a big chunk of the land around them, but kept the cows in the nearby paddocks during this time of year. They’d had a hard time finding skilled hands that could keep their eyes to themselves. Siobhan was bad at riding a horse, Natalia was too good at it, and Bernhard didn’t want the younger girls out by themselves in the wilderness. He did most of the animal care by himself, said he didn’t believe his daughters should have to work cattle as long as he could do it. Twenty head wasn’t so many one man couldn’t manage. Told Arthur some investors from New York had begun showing interest in the unique meat of the Scottish breed.

Arthur watched the fuzzy cows settle in for the night. The steer remained vigilant at the edge of the paddock. Farther out, in a corral with a single box stall, was another steer, bigger, looked different from the rest.

Bernhard leaned against the wall next to Arthur. “Ah, that is Volken. Big mean bastard.”

“Never seen a bull like that.”

“Ja he is a new breed. My brother sent him to us as a wedding gift. Twenty years late. But a nice gift. Do not know yet if we want to mix his blood in.”

“Why’s he got that weird hump on his back?”

“ _ Ik weet het niet _ . Hanne said they are meant to look that way. Come from stock in India.”

“Sounds fancy.”

Bernhard hummed. Sat down, finally, gun held loose. They watched the paddock as the night grew darker and the moon rose. Arthur weren’t normally one for conversation, but something about Bernhard kept him wanting to ask questions. And he wasn’t convinced this Davies fellow was even going to show.

Arthur cleared his throat.

“Big family you got.”

“Ja. And no sons.” Bernhard chuckled. “I have many problems, but  _ mijn dochters zijn blij _ and my wife is happy and the cows are happy.”

“And you?”

“I worry for  _ verdoemde criminelen _ . Life is not so easy here as my uncle said.”

“Where you from?”

“Holland, the Netherlands. We are Dutch.”

Arthur couldn’t recall meeting any Dutch folk in his travels. “Is it, uh, nice there?”

Bernhard shrugged. “It is nice here.”

Arthur was fixing to ask him something else when movement in the treeline caught his eye. Held a finger to his lips and nudged Bernhard, pointed. Arthur looked through the scope of his rifle and saw two men, broad and stocky with matching wide-brimmed hats. Neither looked like the photo of Davies on the wanted poster; Davies was described as tall and red-headed with an unmistakable red beard. Rumor was—according to Bobby and Jared, during the hour Arthur hadn’t been able to get away from them— he set it on fire, once, trying to do a trick at a bar, and that was how he got the name Firechin. Was it possible this Davies fellow had some competition?

Arthur tracked the two men through the scope. Bernhard shifted behind him.

“ _ Meneer _ Callahan, there are more,” he whispered.

Arthur lowered his gun and looked where Bernhard indicated. Another two men, average build with the same hats as the other two. Still no sign of Davies. Arthur swore under his breath. Situation fast looked to be approaching out of control.

One of the cows startled, stood, kicked its back feet out. The first two men had reached the paddock connected to the barn; the other two were outside it, ready to open the gate. Arthur really, really did not want to have to shoot anyone over some damn  _ cows _ .

A scream cut through his thoughts. A lamp flared to life in Volken’s corral. Bernhard shouted something in Dutch beside Arthur and then was throwing himself down the ladder before Arthur had any time to register what was happening.

Duncan Davies, out by the big steer, had Natalia van Tinterin by the throat. Looked pretty much like his picture, thinner now and with a big ugly scar across his forehead, beard long and braided. Natalia was tall for a woman, but Davies towered over her much the way Bernhard towered over Arthur. Arthur took a moment to locate the other four men—no sense trying to stop them taking the cows, bad as it felt—who had opened the gate and flushed out a good amount of the herd.

Bernhard was already sprinting through the emptying paddock, cows forgotten. Arthur hurried from the hayloft, didn’t think anyone had noticed him yet, hoped maybe him just being there could scare Davies into leaving the girl alone, if he saw another armed man besides an angry father.

“Come any closer and I’ll shoot her!”

Bernhard froze. “Natalia! Why are you here! I told you to stay inside,  _ mijn kleine _ !”

Natalia struggled against the arm on her throat. “ _ Ik ben je kleine niet meer _ ,  _ vader _ ! I can protect  _ de koeien  _ just as well!”

“Much as I love a good family squabble, I wasn’t fixing to hang around long, so.” Davies hauled Natalia over his shoulder easily. Arthur finally saw where Davies had broken Volken’s fence, the steer being led away by a fifth gang member, because that’s what Davies had now, a whole goddamn gang, and Arthur had just exposed this family to all sorts of trouble. A tall black standardbred was waiting for Davies, and he slung Natalia across the front of his saddle and galloped off into the night.

Arthur felt a gun on his head. Dropped his rifle and put his hands up. Heard Bernhard do the same. Must be the two stocky fellows, while the last two drove the cattle down the road. Seemed they all had dark horses and quiet tack if they could sneak up that far without Arthur or Bernhard seeing. Little too well organized for a man who only had a forty dollar bounty on his head. Seemed like something Dutch might’ve set up, twenty years ago. 

The front door to the house burst open. Bernhard knocked away the gun trained on him, punched the man in the gut. Arthur did the same on his side. Shots fired from the porch; the men scrambled back towards the forest. Bernhard shot at them a few times. Arthur’s gun had been kicked too far away for it to be any use, and the dark swallowed the men up fast.

Siobhan screamed from the bottom steps of the porch. “ _ Mijn dochter! Mijn baby meisje! Geef haar terug!  _ Bernhard do something!” Siobhan ran to her husband, dropped the shotgun and threw her arms around him and sobbed. 

_ Made a right mess of things, Morgan _ .

“I’m sorry, Bernie.”

Arthur was expecting anger when Bernhard looked at him. Arthur said he would help protect his girls and his cattle and he had done neither of those things. Less than half the cattle remained and his  _ wedding present _ had been stolen.

But Bernhard did not looked angry. He looked as if he had expected this to happen, accepted it. Wait long enough for a tragedy and it happening is almost something of a relief, if only to end the sour-gut feeling of uncertainty. There was some anger there, but it was not directed at Arthur.

“Siobhan,  _ mijn geliefde _ , we will get her back.”

Arthur stepped forward. “Yes we will, ma’am, we’ll get her back right now.”

Where Bernhard was resigned, Siobhan was  _ furious _ . Arthur gulped.

“You had better.”


	2. Chapter 2

Arthur watched as Bernhard sloppily tacked the Shire.  _ I am too big for the dapple, the girls ride her _ . The moon was still high in the sky. Adrenaline waned and Arthur realized he was  _ tired _ . Popped some gum as they mounted up and pounded down the road. Davies would be able to hear them coming a mile off with Bernhard riding that damn Shire hard as he was.

“Any idea where they are?” Arthur shouted ahead. Calliope could easily outrun the giant stallion, but Arthur got the feeling Bernhard needed to stay in front.

Bernhard just pointed. A wide swath of trampled grass, a few piles of cowshit. Arthur kept his mouth shut. Bernhard slowed them down as the meadow turned to forest, then to thick forest. The cowpats were pretty easy to follow, at least. Arthur thought he might see some lights in the distance. Swore he heard soft mooing.

Bernhard swung down from the Shire, hitch him. Arthur did the same with Calliope and they slunk through the trees.

Definitely something there. A lot more than Arthur had expected.

Had to be an abandoned property that the gang fixed up, no way they had bought something like this legitimately. Cattle were crowded into pens, all sorts, jammed together with hardly the space to turn around. Bernhard’s cows were in a smaller pen by themselves. Volken nowhere to be seen. There was a barn, farther back, the only other place he could be kept. Several other buildings, near as many as at Bernhard’s stead, but in obvious disrepair. 

There were a lot more than four men and Mr. Davies in this gang.

One man in the open hayloft. One man on the roof of an outbuilding, another on the roof of the main house. Two pairs of men patrolling the perimeter, crossing near the cowpens. A sturdy hound followed one of them.

“Are cows really worth that much?” Arthur whispered to Bernhard.

“Mine, yes, but I don’t think they would be so smart to know that.”

“Davies has quite the reputation for rustling, might know a thing or two about cows.” Something still seemed. . .  _ off _ , to Arthur. Sure there were a lot of cows here, more than anyone in their right mind would cram into pens that size, but that didn’t seem like it needed, what, five,  _ seven _ men guarding it at a time? And those were just the ones they could see. None of them looked anything like the men who had come to the ranch and Davies was nowhere to be seen.

Bernhard made to move forward. Arthur flung a hand across his chest. Looked a bit like a kid trying to stop his dad.

“Are you crazy?”

“I have to get my daughter back!”

Arthur pulled Bernhard away, back to the horses. “There’s too many of ‘em.”

Bernhard yanked free. “I am not leaving without  _ mijn dochter _ !”

“You’re gonna have to, unless you think you can take out half a dozen men by yourself.”

Bernhard looked at the compound, then back to Arthur, and sighed.

  
They rode in silence, much slower this time. Made it back to the ranch an hour before dawn.

“I’m sorry this happened, Bernie.”

Bernhard would not meet Arthur’s eyes. “I know it is not your fault,  _ maar ik ben nog steeds boos _ . Not angry at you, at  _ him _ .” Bernhard sighed. “It may have happened without you here. He may have killed her.  _ We zullen het nooit weten _ .”

The door opened and Siobhan stood waiting for them on the porch. Still dressed. Shotgun in hand. Bernhard dismounted the Shire, but Arthur stayed atop Calliope.

“I’ll get your daughter back, I can promise you that.”

Bernhard caught Siobhan up in a hug. Arthur could see her shoulders shake as she sobbed.

“How,  _ Meneer _ Callahan?”

“I’ve got a plan.”

  
  


\- 0 - 0 - 0 -

  
  


Calliope pounded down the trail, head high in exhilaration. At least  _ someone _ got to enjoy the mad dash back to camp.

No way Arthur was taking on a place like that by himself, or with a  _ rancher _ . He needed backup.

“Back so soon, Arthur?” Charles greeted him from the watch post. Arthur pulled up next to him.

“Something came up. Marston still here?”

“Last I saw, yeah.”

“Good. Need you two. I’ll explain on the way.”

John grumbled the entire way out of camp clear to the Dakota River, until Arthur explained the situation.

"Why don't we just rob the homestead?"

"I ain't robbing a man who just lost half his cattle and his oldest daughter. Said I'd help him, collect the bounty, and be on my way. Whole family's tore up now. Only fair we help get Natalia back. Oh don't look at me like that,  _ Marston _ , she's just a kid."

“Where’s the ranch?” Charles called from the rear.

“North of Strawberry, the camp ain’t too far from it. Got a whole mess of cattle crammed in there.”

John rode Old Boy to be next to Arthur. “So what’s the plan?”

“Get the girl, get the cows, get Davies.”

“Dead or alive?”

“His bounty’s only forty dollars, they want him alive.”

“Figures.”

“Excuse you?”

“All this trouble over a nothing bounty. What, you get too scared by that witch to go after the bigger fish?”

Arthur snarled and kicked Calliope into a gallop. She was more than happy to oblige, and John fell behind as Calliope charged up the hill. No one seemed to be able to keep up once Calliope got it into her head she wanted to go  _ real _ fast.

Arthur waited for them just outside the train station. Calliope happily sucked on her peppermint. John at least had the sense to let Charles get between the two of them, kept his mouth shut the rest of the way to the van Tinterin ranch.

They made good time. Bernhard seemed surprised Arthur had come back.

“ _ Ik dacht dat je klaar was _ .”

“The hell he say?’ John blurted. Arthur wanted to cuff him on the back of the head. Really starting to irritate him.

“I told you I was going to get your daughter back. These are my friends, they agreed to help. Charles White and John MacGuire.”

John snorted. Charles hid his smile behind a small cough.

Bernhard glanced at the house behind him. Siobhan and the girls were crowded around the windows near the front door. The dutchman sighed, tossed his tools next to the broken fence.

“Ja, alright, we get my daughter.”

  
  


\- 0 - 0 - 0 -

  
  


Charles insisted on scouting ahead. Arthur waited with an impatient Bernhard and a bored John a mile from the compound. Calliope kept trying to goad the Shire, enough that Arthur had to lead her away for a scolding and a peppermint.

Charles returned a half hour later.

“It sounds like they’re keeping her in the barn. Doesn’t look like anyone’s in the house. Two men at the door. One man walking the perimeter, two men on the roofs. How many did you see last time?”

“Seven, maybe six.”

“The rest must be in the barn. Didn’t see Davies.”

Arthur considered the options. 

“Alright, here’s the plan.”

Thought it was an easy plan, the kind of plan they could’ve pulled off as idiot children. Like when he first joined the gang and could hardly shoot straight. Bernhard and Charles on the barn, Bernhard to just take Natalia and  _ run _ , don’t even worry about the cattle, don’t worry about Arthur or Charles or John or any of the Davies gang.

Arthur wanted, just once, for things to go  _ right _ . At least the part about “get the girl to safety” went okay.

Hoped Bernie wasn’t being followed home. Tried to push the image of Natalia bruised and ruined from his mind, had to focus on the goddamn shootout they were caught in now. Heard John shouting from the busted cow pens. The cows stampeded after the first shot and now ran every which way through the camp. One clipped Arthur on the shoulder where he was crouched behind a stack of broken crates. Charles had disappeared into the house during the height of the shooting.

“Arthur! Cover me!”

John didn’t wait for Arthur to respond, and Arthur had to scramble to locate him and keep the remaining men from filling the fool with bullets. Arthur finally hit the asshole sniping at them from the barn. The body fell, bounced off a cow as it charged past. More than a few had been caught in the crossfire, most of them Bernie’s smaller cows. Arthur had just enough space in his heart to feel  _ real _ sorry for the guy, but rage occupied the rest of him. Arthur didn’t even want the bounty now, he just wanted Davies  _ dead _ . Daughter-thieving asshole, hassle weren’t even worth forty dollars.

“Arthur, over here!”

And since when had he let Marston make the decisions here? Arthur was going to have to have a serious conversation with himself about this, later,  _ stupid, Morgan _ . At least John was being smart about something, for once, waiting for Arthur to meet him at the closed door of the house. None of the glass remained in any of the windows.

Arthur leaned against the other side of the door. John had his hand on the doorknob.

“Wait.”

“What  _ for _ ?”

“Why’d they stop shooting?”

“Must’ve hit them all.”

“Then why ain’t Charles come out yet?” Arthur pressed his ear to the door, straining to hear any movement, any whispered conversation.

“C’mon, Arthur—”

“Why are you so eager all of a sudden?”

John rolled his eyes and opened the door before Arthur could stop him.

_ Goddammit Marston _ .

Arthur stepped into the house, rifle raised.

Just a single room, glass and broken furniture everywhere. No bodies. 

“Search the house. Grab anything worth selling.”

Arthur scanned the floor as John rustled through drawers and cupboards. Bullet casings littered the dirt floor between the broken glass. Innumerable boot prints made it impossible to tell what happened, at least to Arthur’s poorly-honed tracking. He moved slowly from front to back. Foot landed in something that squelched under his heel. Bent down for a better look.

Blood. Enough that it had soaked into the dirt and made it mud. A dark trail of fat red spots led away from it, along the back wall of the cabin to a second door not visible from where they’d entered the camp.

“This way, Marston.”

John took his sweet goddamn time, shaking a little bag of valuables. “Lotta jewelry. Thought this guy was a rustler.”

“S’what the poster said. Something ain’t right here.” Arthur gestured at the blood trail with his rifle. “Keep your guns up.”

The blood was easier to follow outside. Splattered bright and obvious against the dense dull-green ferns of the forest floor. A wide path of trampled plants to either side of it.  _ Where the hell is Charles _ .

Arthur was so focused on the blood he almost missed the voices. Threw a hand out to stop John.

“Quiet.”

Arthur strained. The wind covered the voices, but when it died down Arthur finally had a sense of where they were coming from. Snuck through the brush, crouched low. Caught a glimpse of some lights through the trees. Spotted a good cover tree, signalled John to take one side of it while he took the other.

A tidy cabin and three shabby outbuildings, grouped close together. Looked like the trees in the immediate area had been felled to make them; the woods pressed in tight around them. A trio of covered wagons blocked the cabins from view of the overgrown trail. Skinny draft horses were hitched between the trees, heads low. 

There were no windows on the outbuildings. Arthur could see the locks and chains on the doors from here. The front door to the cabin was open, a cheery fire visible in the hearth, a bear rug in front of it. A big dog lounged, ears pointed at the man and woman arguing by the front steps, Charles slumped on his side between them. Facing Arthur. Small miracle. Though his eyes were scrunched shut, Arthur could tell from how his chest labored that he was still conscious. Just needed him to look their way and give him some kind of signal. One leg of his pants was dark at the thigh; a bandana had been sloppily tied around the wound. They hadn’t bothered to tie his hands.

“Care to explain to me,  _ why,  _ Duncan, you thought  _ this  _ would please me?” The woman pointed to Charles, but kept her face on Davies. She looked to be around Miss Grimshaw’s age, dark hair shot through with gray and hanging loose around her shoulders. She wore a simple gown, almost like a nightdress. “Had to send everyone off in a mad scramble to try to fix  _ you  _ mess,  _ again _ .”

“I know it’s not a lady, but look at it! Strong as an ox and dark as anything, they’ll love it at the auction.”

“Maybe, if you hadn’t  _ shot him _ !”

“It’s not that bad, just got its leg—”

“He’s bleeding everywhere! It could get infected. Just put him out of his misery so we can get moving before they come back. You  _ really _ fucked this one up, Duncan, Christ alive. I don’t have anything scheduled for another month!”

“I’m sorry, Minerva! They just started shooting! I didn’t think—”

“Exactly.” Minerva jammed her finger into Duncan’s chest, used it to punctuate every word. “You. Never.  _ Think _ . Now we have to move  _ all _ of them, and we don’t have any drivers. Got the whole team shot over your most recent  _ lustful fixation! _ ” Minerva put a bare foot to Charles’ chest, rolled him onto his back. “Throw him in the pit when you’re done, and don’t come back until you have some folk to drive the wagons. We’ll just have to push north without any cows, this time. We get caught and it’s all  _ your  _ fault.”

Arthur had exactly zero patience for racist fuckwits. He gave John the signal and they leapt from the tree, in perfect sync, each landing a single bullet. Arthur’s hit Davies low in the gut, but John shot Minerva dead center of the chest. John went to Charles as Arthur tangled his hand in the collar of Davies’ shirt.

“Just what the hell kinda operation you running out here?”

Davies only moaned, hands going to his wound. Arthur shook him. “Tell me! What were you planning on doing with my friend here?”

“You friends with all your slaves?”

Rage boiled up hard and hot and fast and Arthur growled, shoved the man back into the dirt and shot him between the eyes. Arthur turned back to Charles and John.

“You alright, Charles?”

“They’re selling  _ women _ , Arthur, those shacks are full of women.”

This was so beyond Arthur’s purview he didn’t know what to do. So he pushed it down, for the moment, and focused on what he  _ did _ know how to do, which was make sure Charles didn’t bleed out from a gunshot wound.

“We’ll worry about that in a second. Let me see your leg. John, check the house. Watch out for the dog.”

Charles flopped back into the dirt as Arthur undid the bandana, tossed it at Davies’ corpse with disdain.

“Bullet didn’t go all the way through, probably what kept you from bleeding out. Left us a nice trail to follow.”

Arthur heard a vague pounding on one of the shack doors. His heart lurched but he ignored it,  _ one thing at a time _ , had to get Charles seen to first. 

Charles gripped Arthur’s shoulder  _ tight _ , fingers digging into the joint. “ _ Arthur _ . They’re selling  _ women _ . Like me. Like Tilly. Arthur, we can’t—”

Arthur hushed him, hooked his arms around Charles’ chest and hauled up into the cabin. The dog eyed them from the carpet with disinterest. John was in one corner, chugging what looked like a bottle of fine brandy. The cabin was little more than a single cozy room, a well-stocked open pantry, a pump sink, a big bed piled with furs. A black steamer trunk stood opened at the foot of the bed, fancy dresses spilling from it, draped over it, a parasol leaned up against one side. A collection of shoes lined the space beneath the bed.

“Get his legs, John, get him on the bed. I know, Charles, but it’s the easiest place to do this.” Arthur shoved a pillow under Charles’ leg, fished out the necessary supplies from his satchel. Ordered John out of the cabin to go fetch their horses.

“Arthur, please.”

“We’ll get them just as soon as you’re patched up, I promise. No good to anyone if you’re dead.”

It always made Arthur angry. Angrier than he knew what to do with, the way Charles’ people were treated. Made him itch to  _ murder _ , ugly and brutal and violent because these monsters didn’t deserve any better. Didn’t matter how  _ he _ felt about it, really, he only had space to apologize and try to help. Had an idea how Charles felt, knew the words for it but not the weight or the pain or the sorrow he saw, sometimes, whenever they witnessed mistreatment.

Arthur laid out the knife, the needle, the thread, offered a half-empty bottle of whiskey. Charles refused it.

“Gonna hurt. A lot.”

“I’ve been shot before.”

“So you have.”

Charles impressed Arthur. Barely a peep, hands fisted in the luxurious bedspread of a slave trader. Ripped the quilt a little, with his strength, but he didn’t cry out. Not like he had—

Arthur shook his head. Focus. Find the bullet, close the wound, wrap it. Get the women out of here. Oh god, how many were there?  _ Focus, Morgan _ .

He got the bullet out around the time John came back with the horses. The dog hadn’t moved at all in that time, stretched out in front of the fire. Would have to figure out what to do with it when they left. Arthur was inclined to burn the buildings to the ground and didn’t exactly want to take a slaver’s dog with him. Weren’t the dogs fault, just. . . .didn’t sit right with him.

Charles immediately tried to sit up once Arthur finished tying off the bandages.

“Woah there, lie back down a minute.”

“No.”

“Charles—”

“Either you can help me up or you can get out of my way.”

_ Aw hell _ . Arthur sighed, ran a hand down his face. Pulled Charles’ arm over his shoulder and helped him limp outside.

More than just banging on the doors, now. High-pitched shouts, clearly female. Too hard to make out what they were saying through the wood. The chains on the doors rattled. John was stood, frozen, mouth agape. He looked from Arthur to the doors and back to Arthur again.

“Don’t just sit there catching flies, Marston, open the goddamn door!”

John hurried to the first door. Arthur and Charles went for the second.

“Stand back! We’re not here to hurt you. Gotta shoot the lock though.” Arthur waited for the pounding to stop. John said something similar, shot the door. Arthur shot his. Charles stumbled forward, started yanking the chain away, saying something Arthur couldn’t understand, must be in his mother’s language.

The first woman through the door fell into Charles’ arms, sobbing, when she saw him and they both sank to the ground. Arthur left them and went to open the final building.

  
  
  


Twenty-seven women stood before them. Arthur had directed them into the house, told them to take whatever they wanted. A few of them didn’t speak any English, but they seemed to understand Charles enough to quell some of their fear. Most of them looked native, only three black women among them. The youngest was sixteen and the oldest was twenty. All of them wearing nothing but filthy nightgowns.

Now Arthur had to figure out where to take them.

Charles stood between him and John, sagged, more like, Arthur and John pressed close to keep him upright.

“Well, there’s the wagons,” John suggested for the third time.

“Those horses look fit to expire, don’t think they’d make it far.” Arthur rubbed the back of his neck. Almost wanted to put the poor things out of their misery. Maybe if they were unhitched they could figure out how to live in the wild. 

“Alright, I’ll go into town, get some help. You two stay here.” Arthur cleared his throat, addressed the women. “I’m going to bring back help. You’re safe with these men. We’re going to get you home. Uh, Charles, if you would?”

Charles translated as best he could. The women still seemed nervous, but they filed back into the cabin.

“And stay off that leg, goddammit. Keep an eye on him, John.”

The sun had come up some time ago. Arthur glanced at the cooling corpses of Minerva and Davies.

“John! I’m borrowing Old Boy!”

Arthur unsaddled the tall horse and tied Minerva’s body to him, roped Davies down behind his own saddle. Tied a lead from Old Boy to Calliope’s saddle, gave both the horses a few oatcakes before starting down the obscure trail. It connected with a road he was familiar with and he pushed Calliope into a gallop. 

  
  


\- 0 - 0 - 0 -

  
  


“I  _ know _ it sounds crazy. That’s why I brought the bodies.”

“Bodies,  _ plural _ ?”

Arthur sighed, frustrated. He did not have time for this. “Like I said, Davies was running a big operation, and this woman was doing something else, selling  _ girls _ , they were working together. Just take a look at them, would you?”

“Davies was wanted  _ alive _ , Mr. Callahan.”

“Just look at the goddamn bodies!”

The deputy pushed back from the desk with a bored sigh. “You don’t get the bounty, since you killed him.”

“Don’t care about the damn  _ bounty _ , I care about the thirty women we found held captive in the woods.”

Arthur stomped back out to the horses. Hands trembled at his sides and the world was fogged and blurry at the edges. A vicious headache pounded behind his eyes, remembered he had stayed up all night, fetched John and Charles, ridden back and shot up some bigoted cattle rustling slaver and still hadn’t slept.  _ Christ _ .

Seemed the sheriff had wandered in from wherever he’d been with his other deputies. The three were crowded around Old Boy, inspecting Minerva.

“I told him it was nothing, Sheriff, and Davies was wanted alive, so—”

“Doesn’t matter. Sir, do you have any idea who this woman is?”

“I know she’s been  _ selling women _ and that’s about it.”

“Exactly, Minerva Alderhund. Last anyone had seen of her was somewhere over the northern border. She doesn’t have a bounty in New Hanover but I know some Mounties who will be  _ very _ pleased to hear she’s dead.”

Arthur ran a hand over his face. He was too damn tired for all this information. “Look, sheriff, all due respect I do not  _ care _ who she is. There are thirty women in the woods that need transportin’ and my friends and I couldn’t exactly fit ‘em on our horses.”

The sheriff now stood by Calliope, trying to get a good look at Davies. Arthur distracted her with a peppermint as the sheriff lifted the corpse’s head, let it fall back again.

“I think we can arrange something.”

 

\- 0 - 0 - 0 -

 

Charles wasn’t sure if he was dizzier from blood loss or anger. What he understood of what the women told him. . . .he wanted to resurrect Minerva and Davies so he’d have a chance to kill them himself. 

Four of them were pregnant. Some of the women had been here  _ months _ , after spending time at the main camp where the cows were kept. Crammed into the cabins without even room to lie down. Slept standing up, slept in turns, used the same corner as a communal bathroom, barely fed enough to stay alive. Some had been taken from tribes far to the south, in the deserts. Some were taken less than a day’s ride away. The three black women had been travelling together, thought it would be safer that way. They told of several women who had died, the bodies left in the sheds for days until the dogs came and dragged them out to eat them. A pale baby had been born, last week, and they never saw it or the mother again.

A few of the women cried quietly, held each other. Charles wished he could go out and get them a deer, give them some proper food for once, but he was starting to see two of everything and just wanted to  _ sleep _ . He and John were posted up by the door, guns holstered, trying to make it clear the women had a  _ choice _ , that they weren’t trapped any more and could leave whenever they wanted. Some of them wandered the perimeter.

One of the older women, who had managed to tell Charles she belonged to a Cherokee tribe a hard two day ride from here, came up to him leading one of the worn down Suffolk Punch that had been tethered by the wagons.

“I will take this one.”

“That is your choice. I hope you find your family.”

“Thank you.” She mounted the horse with ease. Trotted into the woods and was out of sight within a minute.

“This is . . . mighty messed up,” John offered from where he leaned against the door.

“Mhm, that’s an understatement.”

“Ain’t seen nothin’ like this. Don’t know—this isn’t what we  _ do _ .”

“Shouldn’t be what  _ anyone  _ does.”

Two more women claimed the horses and rode off together. One horse remained, the others having wandered off into the woods and hopefully to better lives. 

The young black lady who reminded Charles eerily of Tilly stepped past him and John, a fox pelt pulled tight around her shoulders. Beneath her dirty nightgown the beginning curve of a pregnant belly could be seen. Charles thought she said her name was Celina, but things had started to go fuzzy about an hour ago and he couldn’t well recall what he’d been up to in the recent hours of his life.

“Can I take that horse?”

“You can take whatever you want.” Charles tried to meet her eyes, offer her a smile, but he wasn’t sure his face was in working order.

“Wait, here, take this too.” John reached into his pocket and approached her slowly. Held out a wad of bills to her, open-palmed so she wouldn’t have to touch his hand. “Ain’t much but it should help you get home.”

She smiled, accepted the cash. “Don’t think I have a home to go back to, but thank you, mister.”

John watched her approach the horse, let it sniff her before she pulled herself onto the high back. She was short enough that from a distance it looked as if a child sat atop the horse. He hoped she would be okay. Hoped they would all be okay, really, didn’t know what else to do in this kind of situation.

Charles struggled to his feet behind him, limped down the steps and all but slammed into John’s back. “John, do you hear that?”

John strained. Charles seemed to have a preternatural sense of hearing, because all John heard were birds. Waited a few more seconds, really concentrated. He heard it the same time Taima did, perking her head up at the sound of wagon wheels and many hoof beats.

Arthur came into view first, Calliope more nervous than John had seen her in awhile, tossing her head and flicking her ears and snorting something fierce. Old Boy trotted next to them, not a care in the world. Behind them were two wagons and five men on horseback. Deputy badges gleaming on their coats. A man who could only be the sheriff rode behind Arthur. The gravity of the situation that John had managed to stomp into the dirt shot forth, a seed bursting into a full grown plant in a single breath.

The wagons stopped at the edge of the trail. The drivers stayed as Arthur and what had to be almost every lawman from Strawberry dismounted in front of the cabin. The deputies moved to the cabin; Arthur and the sheriff came for Charles and John.

“Sheriff, these are my friends John MacGuire and Charles White.”

“I have to thank you sirs for your hand in apprehending an internationally sought criminal.”

“Inter. . .national?” John looked to Arthur to clear up the confusion.

“The woman, Minerva Alderhund, has been selling women all the way from Quebec to Mexico for the last twenty years. Disappeared a few years ago and no one’s been able to find her since. Well, except you fellers, and from what your friend has told me, it was by accident.”

“You make that sound like a bad thing,” Charles glared from next to John.

“A happy accident. And as I told Mr. Callahan here, she didn’t have an official bounty, but there was a reward for any information leading to her capture.”

John realized Arthur was grinning ear to ear, actually  _ showing teeth _ .

“Ten thousand dollars.”

“I’m sorry, how much?” John was ashamed at how his voice squeaked at the end.

The sheriff nodded. “Ten thousand is correct. Nothing was posted because she was never known to be in these parts, but I’ve got a buddy with the Mounties up in Canada I trade letters with. Alderhund’s been a particular thorn in his side since he lost her in ‘83.”

The deputies started leading the women towards the wagons. Some thanked Charles as they passed.

“He’ll be excited, probably jealous I actually got to see her. Photos only do so much for a feller.” The sheriff clapped Arthur, still grinning like a fool, on the shoulder. “It’s a federal reward, I’ll have to send out some forms and get in contact with the higher ups, but I can send you a letter when it’s ready. You said you lived near Valentine, correct?”

Arthur offered his hand to the sheriff, shook vigorously. “Yes, that’s right. Thank you, sheriff, we really appreciate it. Seems you have things under control here, and my friend needs to see a doctor.”

The sheriff seemed to notice Charles sagging against John for the first time, the blood staining his pants clear down to his ankle. “Good god! Of course, of course, get him out of here. Thank you again, Mr. Callahan, Mr. MacGuire, Mr. White.”

 

\- 0 - 0 - 0 -

 

“Ten thousand.”

“Yup.”

“ _ Ten.Thousand?! _ ” John whooped. Charles could almost forget the pain in his leg and the black creeping along the edges of his vision. Ten thousand was certainly. . . . an amount. Arthur still had that goofy grin on his face.

“Made the whole thing worth it, I think.”

Charles wanted to chime in with something about how no amount of money could make up for what those women went through, what had happened to the countless other women Alderhund had sold. But his mouth wasn’t talking to his brain, or maybe it was the other way around, but he was cold and so  _ tired _ . And then he was upside down, dangling from Taima by one foot caught in the stirrup.

“Aw shit, Charles.”

Charles gave up, closed his eyes. Arthur and John could handle themselves while he slept.

  
  
  


“Let’s get off the road, make camp. Wanted to get back into town but I don’t think any of us have slept in a day.”

“I don’t remember the last thing I ate.”

Arthur sighed as he and John carried Charles off the road, laid him in the soft new grass of the meadow.

“Huh. Neither do I.”

They made quick work of setting camp, starting a fire. Arthur didn’t know which he trusted John with less, hunting or wound care, decided to send him out to try to find some fresh meat for them.

“And don’t skin it. I’ve seen the way you skin.” 

John rode across the meadow. Taima and Calliope ranged on the grass on long leads, saddles leaned against the tent.

Arthur checked Charles over. Lucky his uninjured leg had caught in the saddle, bullet wound hadn’t bled any more than was to be expected. Felt like he had a slight fever, but Arthur guessed he was more exhausted than anything else. Weren’t too worried, would save the worry for if they couldn’t get him up to eat something. Pulled out his journal and started sketching the horses and the meadow around them. Late into the afternoon now, had to be something like four hours of daylight left.

Arthur dozed. John kicked his boot where it stuck out of the tent, dropped a turkey and a rabbit at his feet.

“Hey, not bad. We’ll make a hunter out of you yet, Marston. Now start plucking.”

  
  
  


Charles woke to low laughter and the smell of roasted meat. Looked up searching for the sky and was met by the roof of a tent instead. Levered himself onto his elbows and saw John and Arthur sat around a fire. Arthur was drawing something in the dirt with the tip of his knife. A piece of meat sizzled on the cooking grate.

“You serious?”

“Yeah, I’m serious. I’m a lot of things but I ain’t a  _ liar _ .”

John caught Charles moving over Arthur’s shoulder. “Well, look who’s awake!”

Charles crawled from the tent with some difficulty, waved them off of helping him. Arthur wipe the dirt from his knife, stabbed the piece of meat, and offered it to Charles.

“What time is it?”

“Somewhere ‘round midnight, I reckon.”

Charles methodically ate what turned out to be turkey that Arthur had bothered to season for once. Washed it down with almost an entire canteen’s worth of water.

“Am I remembering correctly that the sheriff said something about ten thousand dollars?”

Arthur’s grin returned in an instant. Charles mirrored it; John outright laughed, and soon the three of them were hollering, loud and mirthful and disturbing all the nearby wildlife.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I won't stay up until 6AM writing again", I lied, like a liar.

They broke camp with the rising sun. Charles’ wound looked downright pristine. Aside from the three of them being sore and tired and drained from the horrors of the day before, things weren’t. . . all that awful, Arthur thought.

Charles and John had watched, laughing, as Arthur chased Calliope through the meadow. Each time he got close to grabbing her halter, she’d dance away. Gave up after twenty minutes, loudly threatened to just ride on another horse. Once Calliope saw Arthur wasn’t going to chase her anymore, she trotted over and patiently sat through the process of being saddled. Shoved her head into Arthur’s chest as soon as the last strap was tightened. Arthur told her no, only good girls get treats, and then he told Charles and John to shut the hell up and get on their damn horses already.

Was shaping up to be an easy ride back. Not a cloud in the sky, gentle breeze enough to keep them cool as they rode further from the mountains. They moved through the early hours of the day, stopped at a creek to let the horses drink.

The light mood between them didn’t last, Arthur knew it never could.

A wide swath of fire struck Arthur’s back, right where—where that mark was. He hunched into it, but Calliope’s bulk hid him from John and Charles. An uncomfortable heat settled around the mark but the initial pain dissipated a half minute later.

Old Boy noticed first. Head jerked up from the water, nostrils flaring. His shifting allerted Taima and Calliope. The three men scanned the treeline for the threat. Calliope danced away from the other horses, reared and stamped her feet. Their lovely day was ruined in a little under a minute.

It was always a  _ goddamn cougar _ . Arthur hated cats, at this point, wanted to chase down a grizzly just to remind himself some other danger existed besides  _ big goddamn cats _ .

The cougar launched itself at John. Old Boy bolted downstream in his panic. There was a gunshot and the cougar fell, shook itself, chased after John again. 

Arthur didn’t think, just kicked Calliope forward and shouted at Charles to try and shoot the cougar from a distance, if he could. It was small, probably some dumb juvenile on its own for the first time and too hungry to go for an easy kill. Had to go after the big tempting horse.

It lunged again. John kicked at it, but it was able to drag him from his saddle. Old Boy veered away from them, crashed through the trees and disappeared. Arthur shot at the cougar, not aiming well, thought maybe he clipped the shoulder. Calliope skittered to a sideways stop, bucked beneath him and Arthur jumped from her saddle before he could fall off and relive his first ride with her.

“Get the hell offa him!” Arthur shot the cougar again. It released John long enough for him to scramble away. “ _ Run _ , John!” Arthur hoped to draw the cougar towards him, shot at its feet to piss it off. 

The cougar snarled. Blood stained its chin, dripped from its yellow teeth. Took a single step towards him, crouched low—

And then John  _ shot _ at it, fucking bastard  _ fool _ Marston trying to be the hero and ruining Arthur’s perfectly good plan.

The cougar turned right around and went after John.

John and Arthur shot at it in unison. John’s shots all went wide, arm bloody and unsteady. Arthur was trying to hit it while also sprinting after it, so his shots went just as wide.

It wasn’t until the cougar had tackled John  _ again  _ that Arthur realized where they were. Right at the edge of the meadow where the creek decided it wanted to be an actual river and crashed over a steep waterfall. Not high enough to kill you, if you landed right. Lotta rocks in the water right beneath the falls.

John and the cougar went over and Arthur followed right after them without a second thought.

At least the cougar broke John’s fall. Mostly.

  
  
  


“And I  _ told  _ you,” Arthur jerked the ripped-off sleeve of his own shirt around John’s bloody bicep, “to just goddamn  _ run, _ you sorry fool.”

“And let you have all the fun?”

“Them wolves really did chew your brain up, didn’t they?”

John chuckled, coughed, spit blood from his mouth. Bit the inside of his cheek at some point during his tumble.

Arthur clenched his fist to keep from punching Marston in his stupid bleeding mouth. Stupid, stupid, all three of them  _ stupid _ , never should’ve come back out here—

“Arthur! You two alright down there?” Charles called from the top of the waterfall.

“Just fine, Charles! You stay right there!” Arthur sighed, checked John over one last time before grabbing him by the elbows and hauling him over his shoulder, just as he had done in the mountains. Took a moment to scan the rocks for the best way up. The hill on their side of the riverbank was all shale, could scramble up it by himself but not with a full grown fool slung over his shoulder. Other side weren’t much better, just sheer smooth rock, wouldn’t matter even if they could cross the turbulent water at the base of the falls.

“I think you’re going to have to climb the rocks!” Charles had to cup his hands around his mouth for Arthur to hear over the crash of water.

“That’s what I was afraid of,” Arthur muttered to himself as he trudged up the bank. John heaved out a great sigh against his shoulder.

“Does that mean—”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

“Uh, don’t tell anyone back at camp?”

“That I had to piggyback you up a cliff? I’d like to live the rest of my short days in peace. I’ll keep my mouth shut.”

“Same here. And uh. Thanks again.”

“Just shut up and hold on. Why you gotta be such a  _ goddamn fool _ , John?”

“No wonder you and Dutch get along so well.”

“Keep sassin’ me and I’ll dump you back in the river.”

John just sighed against Arthur’s back. Arthur looked up the cliff, glad to see they weren’t too far from the top now. Charles was crouched at the edge ready to help pull them up. Arthur grunted with the effort, the last few feet made difficult by a lack of footholds. Charles helped haul them over the edge. John lay on his side, panting, Arthur hunched with his hands on his knees, Charles supporting himself with hands behind his back and legs spread in front of him. He’d found Old Boy while Arthur fished John from the river. The stallion pawed at the ground. Calliope and Taima stood close to each other, heads up and ears swivelling without pause.

Arthur straightened his back with several audible pops. Glared up at the clouds creeping over the mountains. Wind rippled the grass, billowed Arthur’s shirt where it had come untucked, chilled his wet clothes.

“Alright, let’s get a move on.”

 

\- 0 - 0 - 0 -

 

The three trudged into Horseshoe Overlook, soaked and miserable. The rain had chased them the entire way back. Mud coated the horses’ legs, their bellies. The feathering at Calliope’s hooves was clumped together, made each step high and the ride bouncy. A raging bear of a headache pounded through Arthur’s skull.

Tried to insist the three of them weren’t  _ that _ bad off, when Hosea and Miss Grimshaw and Abigail descended on them like vultures. Arthur relinquished Charles and John to their care and beelined for his cot, didn’t even kick off his muddy boots before collapsing atop the blanket. The steady patter of rain on canvas covered the sounds of camp and Arthur fell into his first dreamless sleep in months.

 

Woke up to daylight and someone tugging on his feet. Cracked an eye open to Miss Grimshaw removing his boots.

“I let you sleep as long as I could, Mr. Morgan, but I won’t tolerate you soiling all your things with mud like this.”

Arthur sat up, rubbed both hands over his face to clear the blurriness from his eyes. A deep soreness had settled into just about every nook and cranny of his body and he wanted to go back to sleep already.

“Arthur?”

Hadn’t realized Miss Grimshaw was trying to ask him something. “Mm. What?”

“I said are you hurt anywhere? John had quite the story to share with us last night.”

“Naw, ‘m fine.”  _ For once _ .

“I find that a little hard to believe, Mr. Morgan.”

“God’s honest truth, Miss Grimshaw. Just sore and tired.”

She stood, hands on her hips, scrutinized Arthur in a way that made him squirm on his cot.

“If you insist. But if I catch you runnin’ a fever because you tried to hide something from me, I’m going to tan your hide six ways to Sunday.”

“Alright, Miss Grimshaw.”

“Leave your things outside your tent and Tilly will come collect them for washing. Stew’s fresh.” She swept from the tent, picked up her hollering at the girls almost immediately.

Arthur struggled out of clothes stiff with dried mud. Grit sifted down his legs and he felt positively disgusting but lacked the energy to care. Wouldn’t want to even  _ try _ getting into town for a hot bath, not until he’d slept for another year at least. Dressed in his most worn-out clothes and fished a clean pair of shoes from under the cot. Dumped the mess just outside his tent and shuffled over to the stewpot. 

There was no grim air about camp this time. Arthur wasn’t sure if John or Charles had said anything about the ten thousand yet, figured Dutch would’ve come to talk to him first. Weren’t the kind of thing he’d leave Arthur alone over, would’ve shaken him awake first thing he heard about it. Just normal camp activity greeted Arthur as he ladelled stew into a bowl and attacked it, didn’t even bother sitting down. He slowed when some slipped from his lips and dribbled down his chin.

“Hungry, son?”

Arthur swallowed, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Been a long few days, Hosea.”

“So we’ve been told. Quite, ah, quite the story John’s been telling us.”

“What about Charles?” Arthur drained the last of the stew, dropped the bowl on the pile of dirty dishes.

“Been sleeping more than you have.” Hosea nodded at Dutch, standing at the entrance of his tent and watching them, waiting. “How’s about we hear your side of things?”

Dutch clapped Arthur on the back, asked how he was, how things had been going. “I’ll admit, we didn’t believe John when he said  _ you _ weren’t hurt at all. Seems your luck has changed.”

“Not so sure about that, Dutch, people still got hurt.”

“You boys have all had worse. I’d say a few scratches are a fair deal. And you came back to us in one piece, this time.”

“John said something about a bounty?” Hosea lowered himself onto a crate, indicated for Arthur to sit opposite him. Dutch remained standing. “He also said something about. . . women being sold? Is that right?”

“That part of it was a bit of a surprise.”

Arthur recounted the first failed attempt to catch Davies. Apologized for just grabbing Charles and John and leaving without another word. Skipped over the details of Natalia’s rescue and went right to finding Charles with Davies and Alderhund and the women kept in the shacks.

“Perhaps your luck  _ hasn’t _ turned, Arthur,” Dutch said with a chuckle. “Just like you to go out for a small-time bounty and uncover a goddamn slavery operation.” Dutch puffed on his cigar, flicked ash out of the tent. He’d started to pace as Arthur’s tale dragged into the late afternoon. “How much was the bounty, anyways?”

“Forty dollars.”

“That’s not very much.” Admonishment hung from the words, Dutch’s eyes narrowed at Arthur.

“Normally that would be fair, cattle rustlers aren’t usually the violent type,” Hosea defended.

The weight of both their gazes settled across Arthur’s shoulders. He looked down at his hands, cleared his throat. When he met their eyes again, a toothy grin had spread across his face. Dutch shifted forward; Hosea looked more confused.

“ _ Davies _ had a forty dollar bounty. Alderhund’s was ten thousand.”

A second past. One heartbeat, two.

“ _ Ten thousand?! _ ” Dutch’s voice cracked as he shouted.

Arthur didn’t try to repress the laugh that bubbled up his throat. Felt several sets of eyes on his back as practically everyone in camp looked over to Dutch’s tent.

Dutch rushed up to him, caught him around the shoulders, yanked him off the crate and into a crushing hug.

“Ten thousand? Really?”

“Aha, yeah. Something to do with being wanted in two countries. Sheriff at Strawberry said he’d send a letter when it was ready.”

“Oh, son, this is amazing! Everyone! Get over here!”

Dutch kept an arm around Arthur’s shoulder, shoved them both to the front of the tent. Just about the whole gang was gathered outside Dutch’s tent, now.

“This is what I’ve been  _ talking _ about! Arthur here has brought in a ten. Thousand.  _ Dollar _ . Bounty! We’re celebrating tonight!”

  
  
  
  


Arthur found himself staring into the low fire. It was hedging between late night and early morning, and Arthur was the last one left awake. Didn’t remember the last time anyone had thrown a log on it, the booze twinning with his fatigue made it hard to keep track of things. People had traded off songs, Javier taking over with his guitar once everyone was too drunk to string a sentence together. Arthur just enjoyed seeing everyone so happy. John had crowded next to him on the log, arm in a sling and bandages on both hands, nose and cheeks flush. He’d started drinking almost immediately. Arthur hadn’t seen Charles, yet, too busy being pat on the back and thanked by the gang. Too many drinks were shoved at Arthur and by the time he remembered he wanted to check on Charles, Arthur was having too hard a time keeping the world straight.

So he sat hunched over an empty bottle and stared into the fire. Sank into the glow of the embers and the low crackle as the fire licked the last unburned spots on the wood.

“Sounded like quite the party.”

Too drunk to be startled. Not at all surprised Charles had snuck up on him. Despite his bulk that man could sneak up on anything, really. Lowered himself next to Arthur, injured leg stretched out in front of him. Arthur tried to offer a hand, was off by about a foot. Charles smiled with a small huff of laughter.

“You’re drunk.”

“You are correct.”

“Why aren’t you in bed like everyone else?”

“Don’t rightly think I can walk without falling on my ass.”

Charles hummed. Laid a small log on the fire, poked at it until it flickered back to life. The faint orange threw his face into shadow, caught on the scar down his cheek. Lit up his hair like sun on an oil slick.

“And how are you, Charles?”

“Fine.” Charles wouldn’t meet Arthur’s eyes.

“Sure.” Arthur set the empty bottle against his seat, grabbed an extra pelt and pulled it around his shoulders. Silence settled between them, the kind of silence of the hunt, not wanting to startle nearby prey.

Charles drew in a deep breath, released it loudly. “I was so  _ angry  _ about the women. Why couldn’t we do more for them? Who  _ does _ that, gets away with it for  _ twenty years _ .” Firelight danced over his dark eyes, still not looking at Arthur. Arthur squinted, willed the world around Charles to stop wobbling so goddamn much. Rooted around his drunk brain trying to find the right words.

“Seen people do some terrible things, but that were one of the worst.”

“Only monsters trade in human flesh, only a monster could value a person so little.”

Arthur could feel the anger radiating from the other man, the way it pinched his face and pulled his shoulders taught, a bowstring ready to release.

“Important thing is that we got ‘em out.”

“And what’s to say the same thing won’t happen to them again? Or something  _ worse _ ?”

“Dunno what could be much worse’n what they already went through.”

“I can think of a few things.”

Arthur scrubbed a hand over his face. Pinched the bridge of his nose. Shook some of the fog from his head, rubbed the back of his neck. “Things can always be worse, if you think about it that way. We got them out and the sheriff promised to get them as close to their homes as he could.”

“Forgive me if I don’t have much faith in the words of a white man.”

“That’s fair enough, I suppose, but he weren’t the one that did it to them.”

Charles rubbed at his thigh, around the carefully bandaged wound. The silence this time was uncomfortable.

“I just wish we could have done more.”

“We did what we could, Charles, weren’t anything else  _ to _ do. Can’t save everyone and we have our own family to worry about.”

Charles sighed. Bowed his head. Hands came up to thread into his hair. Muttered something Arthur didn’t catch. Dropped his hands into his lap with another sigh and looked at Arthur. Despite the low light and his dark skin Arthur could see the bags there.

Arthur frowned. “You been sleeping alright?”

Charles swallowed. His throat clicked. “No. Think . . . think it found me again.”

“Aw, hell.”

“We have to do something about it, Arthur. About  _ them _ .”

Arthur heaved out a breath. “It’ll have to wait ‘til that leg’s better.”

“Shouldn’t be too long. And you still have to collect that bounty. That  _ ten thousand dollar bounty _ .” Charles grinned at him but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Still don’t seem like a real number.”

“Probably won’t, not until you have it in your hands.” Charles struggled to his feet. Arthur’s head had cleared enough during their conversation that he was able to actually help this time. “You should really get some sleep, Arthur.”

“Same to you.”

“Mm, don’t think I can get back to sleep after. . .that dream. Glad everyone was too drunk to see me when I woke up.” Charles stepped away from Arthur, made like he was going to hobble to the edge of the overlook. Arthur got a shoulder under Charles’ arm and helped him over to the rock most folk liked to watch the sun rise from.

“Can’t have been any worse than how you looked outside that swamp.”

A puff of air, could’ve been a laugh. Charles sank into the grass to lean his back against the rock. Arthur dropped next to him, one leg kicked out in front, arm resting on the crooked knee of the other. They sat in silence and watched the sky go from dark blue to light blue to pale blue to pale pink. Camp woke up at their backs. One of the chickens wandered over, got startled when Arthur shifted his legs and flapped back for the rest of the flock.

Pearson calling out the morning stew was ready startled Arthur from his doze. Charles had fallen asleep next to him, head dropped onto his chest and hair obscuring his face. Arthur nudged Charles’ shoulder; he snorted awake, looked around with unclear eyes. Arthur chuckled, got to his feet, offered his hands to Charles. Hauled him up and steadied him back to his bedroll.

“Get some real sleep, this time.”

“You too, Arthur. And thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Arthur just about staggered over to his cot. Playful calls about him still being drunk followed him the whole way there. He stuffed a few crackers into his mouth, washed them down with half a canteen, and promptly passed out face-first into his pillow.


	4. Epilogue

Arthur snuck out just before dawn. 

Everyone had gotten drunk all over again when he returned from Valentine with the bounty. Had to pick the damn thing up at the sheriff’s office, was being kept in its own special lock box. John had looked like he didn’t believe his share was actually  _ his _ . Arthur worried this was going to be the thing that finished off the rest of Marston’s fool brain, but Abigail had swept in and babbled about all the things they could do with that kind of cash. Charles accepted it with little more than a nod and a quiet thanks and went back to doing whatever it was he did, now that his leg was healed. Dutch made another big speech. Arthur slipped away from the festivities, took his journal and his fishing pole and Calliope down to the river and stayed there until the sun set. Was pretty sure everyone was either too drunk or too asleep to notice him coming back.

He’d stuffed his cut of the bounty into a large envelope, along with a letter, and set out for the van Tinterin ranch.

Arthur made sure his approach was obvious. There weren’t any cattle in the paddocks, and the donkeys and horses seemed absent as well. Only indication anyone was still at the ranch was Bernhard opening the door, shotgun in hand, once Arthur was within shouting distance of the house. He lowered it once he recognized Arthur. Face unreadable. Looked like he hadn’t slept at all in the time since Arthur last saw him.

“I know I’m probably the last person you want to see right now.”

Bernhard sighed, leaned the shotgun by the door and walked over as Arthur dismounted. Arthur expected to see Siobhan and the girls in the windows near the front door, but they remained empty.

“ _ Nee, Meneer _ Callahan. The last person I want to see is  _ die man die. . . mijn dochter verontreinigd _ . I hope he suffers.”

“He’s dead.”

“ _ Goed _ .”

Arthur dug in his saddlebag, pulled out the envelope. “Brought you something. I know it won’t make up for what you lost, but I want you to have this.”

Bernhard slowly took the envelope from Arthur. His eyes widened as he counted out the money, counted it again.

“Mr. Callahan, I can’t—was this the bounty?”

“Sort of. There was some woman there, been wanted for a while, had a big reward for any information about her.”

“What information is worth this much?”

“Doesn’t matter. Don’t worry about it. She’s dead now. I’m.” Arthur sighed, rolled his shoulders. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry this happened to you. To your family. To your daughter.”

“It is not a good thing,  _ nee _ . They have left to visit my uncle. _ Ik zal over een paar dagen vertrekken _ , after closing things here. We sold the rest of  _ de koeien _ . We will try something else, in spring.” Bernhard placed one massive hand on Arthur’s shoulder, looked him dead in the eye. “It was not your fault. Bad things happen.”

“Seem to happen an awful lot around me.”

“Bad things happen.  _ Slechte dingen gebeuren met goede mensen. _ With or without you. With you here, I have this now.  _ Dit is veel geld _ , _ dit zal heel goed voor ons zijn _ .  _ Dank je _ , thank you. I would not have my Natalia without you. A good deal.” 

Arthur looked down at his boots. “Sure, a good deal.”

  
  
  
  


Arthur rode until the hills sloped into rock and the air became too cold and thin for anything to grow. The full moon illuminated the valley below, bounced off the creek that split the meadow in half. Almost ran parallel to the wide band of the Milky Way. Calliope’s breath puffed into view and obscured the stars.

Arthur allowed the cold to seep through him, blend him into the landscape. Pushed Calliope up the mountain. Hands numb when they reached the peak. The valley was just a smudge below, moonlight on the creek the easiest thing to pick out from the monotone nighttime green.

No sound carried on the still air. Arthur stared into the distance, appreciated the view.

Calliope tossed her head. Looked back at him as if asking what they were doing up here, in the cold in the middle of the night. Must have sensed it coming before Arthur did.

Fire across his back, searing harsh and fast into his bones. His stomach flipped and he stumbled from Calliope and vomited. Staggered back, leaned his head against her neck. She snuffled around his coat pockets, nudged his arm until he lay a hand flat on her face.

“Sorry, girl.”

She snorted a breath into his face. Always got a little smile from him, that. Arthur pat her neck, looked back at the valley.

A bright glint off something pale. Big enough to see it from here. Clear enough Arthur could see the blackness of its mouth as it opened and screamed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be continued in "Return to Blackshear Butte." If you haven't read "The Witch of Roanoke Ridge" and "Blackshear Butte" yet, go do so! I might have "Return" finished by then.


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